"We're with you, captain!" cried a sailor from the Caroline. "We've whupped two passels of 'em an' we c'n whup another onel"
"Take command. Captain Bryant," Scott said. "Hurst and I are going to find Kimbrell."
With that he went into the nearest house. Hurst at his shoulder, and from that one proceeded to another. The silence hanging over Quallah Battoo was heavy with danger. The discharge of one firearm, the launching of one bamboo spear, would precipitate bloody fighting in which little quarter would be given. It would be a fight to the finish, winner take all; it couldn't be any other kind.
"Kimbrell!" Hurst called.
There was a rasping noise in reply. Together Scott and Hurst darted into a third house. There, on the floor, lay the boatswain and three of his mates. They were trussed up, hand and foot, and all four were gagged.
Quickly the bonds were slashed and the gags removed. The men scrambled to their feet without assistance.
"What are you men doing here?" Scott demanded. "What's the meaning of this, Kimbrell?"
Words broke from the big boatswain in a torrent. His voice trembled with fury. "Sir, it ain't no fault of our'n. It was him who done it—Fox, I mean—an' I ain't misterin' him no more. He's a dirty son-of-a—"
Scott broke in harshly, fearing to hear the truth he had to have from the man. "Never mind that. Why are you here? Why aren't you in the ship?"
"It was Fox, sir!" Kimbrell cried, tears of wrath streaking his broad, bruised face. "He was th' officer an' he ordered us to let Pa' Mahmud an' fifty more aboard. He was th' officer an' we had to obey."
"Pa' Mahmud!"
"Aye, sir. Pa' Mahmud. Fox welcomed him aboard an' told me to shut up when I started to say somethin'. They all got aboard, real chummy-like, an' then they turned on us all of a sudden, Fox with 'em. Some—some of us fought clear an' jumped overboard. Some didn't. An' some that jumped couldn't swim."
"And the lady . . . Miss Russell?"
"Only God knows, sir."
Scott's knuckles whitened as his hands tightened on his weapons. Dread mounted in him. Dorcas, he thought. My ship. He took a grip on himself. "When did all this happen?"
"About an hour after you went ashore this momin'. Me an' these three got captured th' minute we waded onto th' beach. I'd just worked th' gag out of my mouth when I heard you outside. I was tryin' to tell you where we were when I was popped on th' head an' gagged again. Sir—sir, you ain't goin' to let that pirate Fox get away with th' Caroline, are you?"
Scott's mind turned cold. Hostile Malays here and hostile Malays in my ship. And Fox, that mealymouthed turncoat. If I can lay hands on him, I'll swing him from a yardarm.
"You can take her back, sir," the boatswain persisted. "You're goin' to, ain't you?"
Tom between fear for Dorcas' safety and murderous fury toward the treacherous mate of the brig, Scott didn't reply at once. Until this moment he had been too amazed to grasp all the implications of his situation. He forced himself to think logically. The people of Quallah Battoo certainly were mixed up in the piracy, if only to the extent of seizing the men who had managed to swim ashore. He could turn on them vengefully, but that would neither rescue Dorcas nor get the Caroline back. In order to husband his strength and scanty resources he must avoid an open rupture in the town, at least for the time being. With luck that would be possible; for he felt himself among vultures rather than hawks. The important thing, the only important thing, was to recapture his ship as speedily as possible. At any moment the pirates might decide to set sail, taking Dorcas beyond reach and leaving him and his men stranded. Finally he fixed the boatswain with hard, purposeful eyes.
"Well take her back, Kimbrell," he said in a flat, ominously calm manner. "Whatever the cost, we'll take her back."
So spent that even her mind was numbed, Dorcas fell, into the deep slumber of complete fatigue soon after Scott left the Caroline. She was awakened by the furor created when the Malays welcomed aboard by Fox turned savagely on the bewildered seamen. Even so, in the darkness of the captain's cabin, where she had been lulled into a sense of security, she at first was more puzzled than frightened by the commotion. Only when a musket ball pierced the door and smashed the glass of a window did she feel the cold breath of terror.
She had no weapon. Except for the thin chemise, she had no clothing. But the fear she felt was galvanizing rather than paralyzing; her first reaction was to get to the door and lock it, thus gaining time for thought. Clutching the blanket around her, she was about to slide the bolt into place when the door was pushed open so violently that she stumbled backward. Her fright vented itself in an involuntary scream.
"Hush!" a voice said in English. "Hush. You'll be all right."
"Mr. Fox!" she cried, surprised relief warming her. "Mr. Fox, it's you! Gracias a Dios!"
He put his arms around her comfortingly and for the moment she did not repel him. Then a man screamed despairingly, a sound that was broken off abruptly and followed by a ragged burst of musketry and a chorus of triumphant yells in the Malay tongue. She trembled violently, grateful for Fox's presence.
"It's all right," he said soothingly, his arms tightening. "It's almost over. You're safe with me, Dorcas. Safe."
She freed herself suddenly, unaccountably further alarmed by his coolness. In the blackness she could not distinguish his face, and still she had no clear knowledge of what had happened. The Malays still were racing about the ship and whooping in triumph.
"That yelling, Mr. Fox—what is it? It sounds as if—as if natives had the ship."
"It's all right, Dorcas," he assured her.
"All right? Then what's going on? Has the captain returned?"
"It's all right, I tell you. I'm the captain now."
"You re—what?"
"I'm the captain of the Caroline," he repeated, himself pleased by the sound of the words.
Scott's dead, she thought. Dead. That's why Mr. Fox is captain. And Zenas and my father—what has become of them? Confused by grief, she drew away a step, holding the blanket closely about her.
"Let me tell you everything, Dorcas," Fox said soothingly.
"You haven't answered my question, Mr. Fox," she said sharply. "Is Captain Rogers dead?"
Fox hesitated a fraction of a second. "I don't know."
"My father? Zenas—Captain Bryant? Is there word of them?"
"I don't know about them, either."
"Then," she cried, her voice rising, "in God's name, sir, what do you know?"
Pa' Mahmud came in then, carrying a lantern and smiling his satisfaction. His yellow sarong was spattered with blood. Dorcas shrank away from him. Noticing, the rajah laughed and looked at Fox.
"It is finished, Fox," he said in Malay.
Dorcas' apprehension turned to shock when Fox laughed shortly in turn and said, "We planned well, Pa' Mahmud."
She could hardly credit her reeling senses. She did not want to believe what was being forced on her. And even though Fox and the rajah smirked at each other evilly in her presence, she still spoke with incredulity. "Mr. Fox, you—you..."
He nodded, eyes shining in the soft light. "I said I'd tell you everything. Very well. The ship is mine now. I should have been captain all along . . . from the very first. The whole idea for this voyage was mine and mine alone. I told you that, remember?"
Now she felt certain Scott was dead... Scott and Bryant and her father and all the others who were of her kind. Sickness beset her and then, flashingly, stormy anger that nullified all fear. She spoke with scorn that made Fox's face redden. "Murderer! Thief and murderer!"
He slapped her viciously, stingingly, so hard that she staggered under the blow, and the watching Malay rajah bobbed his head in grinning approval. Fox's voice lanced into her consciousness. "Sit down and listen to me!"